One Simple Question
by Mr. Wols
Summary: "It's been a long time since she was a child. Things changed. And saome stayed the same. Like how she is now sitting in an interrogation room, contemplating her life as some random person questions her. But it's different this time." Cam. T for a reason
1. Oh, How Cliche

**A/N: Well. Here I go again. Gone forever and this is what I do when I get back. Well. Um. This probably won't make sense till the latter chapters, but whatever. I don't even know if I'll keep it up. As you might know, probably not, I like to make Sam and Carly a little older. And put them in situations that don't make too much sense. Almost like movies you could say. Barley mention the past we know and almost never mention iCarly. It's not an au, it's just different. Kind of. Just like my other stuff. And like I said, I might not even keep it up. I might take it down or just revise it a bunch or something. I don't know. Let's give it a week.**

**One Simple Question**

"**Oh, How Cliché"**

There's little sound in the room save the rhythmic ticking of the old analog clock mounted on the stone colored wall, just above the one-way pane of glass. The blonde woman tugs her arm, just to reassure herself that they are in fact cuffed to the back of the cold, steel chair. She looks around the room once more, her lips moving slightly as she counts. The small balding man shifts before crossing his arms; just to have to once again correct his large wire rimmed glasses. He lets out a sniffle and continues to watch the women. He rubs out a small wrinkle in his brown suit, making a mental note of the empty look in the woman's blue eyes while resting his arms on the rectangular metal table, wondering how this will affect his work.

"Ms. Kozolov? What is that you are doing?" he says through a thick German accent, but she doesn't answer, she just continues to slowly swing her head back and forth. "Ms. Kozolov, I would like you to stop that. Ms. Kozolov?" She begins to mumble before taking a deep breath and violently jerking her body and exhaling. "We had the chair bolted to the floor. I believe that was actually your suggestion." He mentions off handedly as the room becomes quiet again. He opens a manila folder, clicking the top of a shiny, silver pen and starts scribbling notes in the folder.

"2,446. What are you writing there?" the man looks up, almost surprised by her speech. He takes a moment to push his glasses up his nose, just for them to slide back down. His eyes shift across her. In a moment of weakness his eyes linger on her before she nods to the folder, a piece of her long blonde hair falling to the front of the white button shirt. She tilts her head and raises one eyebrow.

"Oh, sorry. I'm simply making note of your refusal to cooperate. I believe it was your employers wish that I take note of your actions during the course of this… interview so that they can determine whether or not you answer my questions truthfully." He lowers the pen into the folder. The woman nods before smiling and shaking her head.

"No."

"No?" he asks while raising an eyebrow.

"No as in that isn't what you are doing." She says slowly.

"I beg your pardon."

"2,159. You may be taking notes, it may be for my _former_ employers but it's not about what I say. They want notes on how I say it. How much I believe what I say. I mean, come on." She finishes by shrugging and looking around the room.

"I can assure you Ms. Kozolov; this is nothing more than a simple interview. And they are your employers still. You have not been fired." She tugs at the cuffs around her wrists, making them clank.

"A simple interview? Come on. You are using every cliché in in the book that was written in a different era. Small room, metal table and bolted chair? Come on Ernest. Let's be serious for a minute."

"How do you know my name?" she simply rolls her eyes.

"I know the name of every _interviewer_ worth mentioning in this half of the country. And you Ernest are not one of them. And what kind of name is that. Ernest. Your mother wasn't doing you any favors there. Well… at least it goes along with _you_. Short, fat and bald. Speaking of bitchy mothers, I have a few stories to tell there. This friend of mine. Oh, man, was his mom bad." Ernest takes a small handkerchief out of his pocket and dabs his for head before picking up the pen.

"Classic attempts at misdirection. It would seem you are in fact well trained. I had hoped for this."

"Better than you obviously, handcuffs and metal tables, trying to act pathetic to get my guard down? What's next, question after question hoping I slip up and make a mistake? Did you even do your homework? Oh, Ernest. That's just-"

"I can assure you Ms. Kozolov. We did in fact do our homework. I simply use the name in the file as I believed you would prefer it over…" he flips through the folder for a moment before finding it. "Puckett. I can see here a lot of bad things tied to that name." her face goes to stone, her eyes locking on the file. "So forgive me if I thought you would prefer the name you've used for the last what, fifteen years?" he stands, his chair lets out a loud screech as it slides across the floor. He slowly makes his way around the table. His eyes never leaving her. "Now Samantha, may I call you Samantha? Oh well, irrelevant. I am going to ask you a few questions, and I'd much prefer you to answer truthfully so there aren't any bitter feelings between us. Because you see, I've always dreamt of working alongside of you." He walks past her, sliding a finger along her shoulder before standing next to her. "But in the inevitable event of you lying or resisting, I must ask. Are the any preferred methods you would like me to use? Or anything we should know about? We don't want this to end too quickly." After a moment her eyes leave, the folder and look up at Ernest. A large smile spreads across her face.

"Preferred methods? Well I've always been a bit kinky, so if we could get a car battery and some jumper cables and work out something with my naughty bits that would be swell. Oh, shoot. My doctor said I need to take it easy for a few weeks so maybe we should just stick to good old clean fun. Like ruff physical contact." She continues to look at him as they both laugh. He snaps his fingers at the glass while wiping a tear from his eye.

"Oh how delightful, endless sarcasm. This truly will be a fun evening. Well for me at least. I feel you will enjoy it less so." Just then the grey door opens and two large men step inside. They gently shut the door and stand side by side in front of it. Samantha looks them over for a moment. One is a tall man with a muscular frame and wide shoulders. The other is almost identical, just a few inches shorter. Both have strong jaws and flat top haircuts indicating they were at some point in the military and both were black suits that hang oddly off there frames. And both, sure enough, have small wires coming out of one ear and going into their collars. On is wearing old aviator glasses with silver lenses while the other wears more modern, jet black sunglasses. "These are my friends."

"Well hi there. They must be a blast at parties. Standing in the corners and not saying anything. So, Ernest, you want the truth right?"

"Oh yes, of course."

"Well then I have something you will want to know." She says while leaning forward as far as she can, looking in between him and the two men. Ernest does the same out of curiosity. "I don't think you know this or not but… those two guys over there look fucking retarded." She whispers loudly, easily loud enough for the two men to hear her. Earnest leans back, obviously displeased while Samantha begins to laugh. "1,812."

"What are those numbers?"

"What?"

"Those numbers. You've been doing it for some time now."

"Oh, I'm counting down." She says cheerfully. Ernest raises a curious eyebrow.

"Counting down to what?"

"Well, I wanted to this to be a surprise but when I hit zero I'm going to kill you. And your friends over there." She looks to them "Don't worry boys; I don't want you feeling left out." Ernest's face goes blank, what little emotion there was is now gone as he slowly walks to the door, the men moving apart to let him through as he reaches it. He looks to one.

"You may do what you will. But do not, I repeat. Do not kill her." He walks into a dark hallway, slamming the door behind him.

"Wait, Ernest. Where are you going? Was it something I said? Are you mad at me? Ernest?" she shouts as one of the men makes a fist and cracks his knuckles. "Oh, because that's _so_ menacing. I'm shaking in my chains." She rattles the cuffs as man walks towards her, arm raised and ready to strike. "Wait, what's the name of your tailor" the man's fist lands heavily on her jaw and her head snaps to the side. "Wow, okay. I was just going to help you get better suits. No need to be a dick." He hits her a second time, harder than the first. "Okay. What was that?" she looks up to him just to receive another punch. "Is there a fly in the room? Because I think it keeps landing on me." He strikes her again but this time she stays to the side a little longer. She slowly looks up at him a large smile. "Thank you sir, may I please have another?" he simply looks at her. "What? Isn't that how I get in the bad suit fraternity?" She shouts through laughter. The man snarls and lands several punches. After a few moments her head rises and she looks at him. "Are you going to do that every time I talk?" once again his fist slams against her jaw. She nods but doesn't say anything, but only for a minute or so. "Yeah, no. it's not as fun this way." He hits her as the door opens and Ernest makes his way back into the room. "Can you get him a bat or something? Maybe give the little guy a try?" she leans forward and looks at him. "Wanna' give it a shot there champ? Come on short stuff, give it a try." She says as if talking to a child.

"That will be enough William." He makes his way to the chair opposite her and seats himself. He takes his time as he opens various folders to the correct page and repeatedly fixing his glasses. "Why do you refuse to cooperate?"

"You haven't asked me to do anything."

"Ah, but I told you what I wish you to do. I ask questions and you answer."

"But you haven't asked me anything."

"I have asked you many things." She tilts her head and sighs.

"You are a smartass. 912."

"AND YOU ARE VERY AGGRIVATING." He shouts before nodding to William.

"I say, I've been told I'm pleasant to be around." He nods back and punches her again. "You know William, I didn't want to say this but, you hit like a fucking girl." Ernest simply sighs and rubs his eyes, holding up a hand to keep William from striking her again.

"Simply tell me what you told him and we will let you go." He leans back in his chair locking eyes with her. Samantha lowers her head, looking at the blood stains on her once white dress shirt.

"Ah man. This was my seventh favorite shirt." She's cut short by a fist. "Okay, okay. I'll you what I said. I… I told him that… I told him that your henchmen hit like bitches and he should just storm the fucking place." William lets loose another punch. "SERIOUSLY, ARE YOU HITTING ME WITH A PILLOW? COME ON MAN." He raises his fist but is stopped.

"Come now Samantha. Why must you be so stubborn? It is only one simple question. What did you tell him?"

"HIM WHO? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" she shouts, shifting in the chair.

"THE RAPTOR!"

"The... oh my god." She lets her head fall back as she sighs. "You people think I'm a fucking mole, don't you. You think I'm selling information to fucking Bernhardt's little fucking assassin?"

"WE HAVE MORE THAN ENOUGH EVIDENCE TO KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE DONE. MY ONLY CONCERN IS DAMAGE CONTROL! TO FIND OUT WHAT HAS BEEN SAID!" Ernest shouts while standing and sliding a folder across the table.

"EVI- WILL YOU LISTEN TO YOURSELF?" Ernest grunts and moves around the table. He flips through the folder ad upon finding the page he grabs her head, forcing her to look at it.

"This is a call log; it shows multiple calls to a man names Richard Carlyle, also known as the Raptor. All coming from your home phone." He flips to another. One with a photo of Samantha walking out of a small coffee shop, talking to a brunette woman. "And this, we have multiple photographs of you with this women. Her name is Carly Shay, she-"

"I KNOW WHO SHE IS."

"THEN YOU KNOW SHE WORKS FOR CARLYLE!"

"She doesn't."

"Oh, but she does. Now, why would we have multiple photographs of you and one of his informants if you weren't selling information?"

"BECAUSE WE ARE FRIENDS!"

"Of ten billion people on this earth you just happen to recently befriend a woman known to be close to Richard Carlyle? I do not think so."

"I didn't just befriend her. I've known her since I was a fucking kid." He walks across the room, crossing his arms and smiling.

"Of course you have. We know. That is why Carlyle sent her. We already know what you did, Samantha. We just want to know how much you sold."

"I telling you, I didn't sell anything to anyone. Carly isn't a spy and you ARE A FUCKING IDIOT." Ernest sighs and looks to the glass for a moment.

"So, you are not going to cooperate. That is truly a shame. We would have been so good together."

William stands quietly as a voice fills his earpiece. He covers it to hear it better as his instructions are filtered through. He looks to the glass and nods before reaching into his jacket and pulling out his pistol. He takes a step forward and pushes it against the back of the woman's head. He thinks to himself about how much he is going to enjoy what happens next.

Samantha sits quietly hearing the hammer click back on his pistol. _A .45. Nice. _She thinks to herself. But soon wonders why. "They always say that your life passes before your life before you die. But it doesn't. I don't see my entire life, just the last few days. And how confusing, surprising, horrible and wonderful they were." Ernest starts to the door as she takes a deep breath, simply waiting. The gun fires as she exhales.


	2. Time Off and Time Lost

**A/N: So you know in those movies where it starts all dramatic and then jumps back and leads up to the dramatic part? Yeah. About six or seven chapters, maybe less. And I didn't really check this, super big mistakes? My apologies. Poorly written? My apologies. And if it is super bad let me know and ill fix it. I'm really not happy with the latter part. And I would like everyone to know this is a love story with spy thriller parts. I think. Just forget I said that.**

"**Time Off and Time Lost"**

**A week before**

The steady sound of the air conditioning fills the room, giving it a steady hum as it keeps the room cold, even despite the low temperatures outside the building. But Sam finds the cold and the hum peaceful. Just right clear her mind. She lies perfectly still in her bed, taking long breath as she tries to sleep. But she doesn't try hard, because she knows it won't come. Just like she couldn't sleep the night before. So she just lies there, staring at the eerily white vaulted ceiling, unmoving. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes before sitting up with a groan, hands covering her eyes to block the light from the window overlooking central park. She concentrates on the sound of the air conditioner as images from her last assignment fill her mind. She stomach begins to churn as she lowers her hands, looking around the plain white bedroom of her penthouse apartment; even after years of living there she has yet to become comfortable with its size. She always feels at risk, like something is going to jump out of corners when she looks away. She sighs as an old thought takes hold, _is this really me?_ For fifteen years this thought has always been in the back of her mind. Making her question herself. Everyday she's worked for the company, more so with her new position within it as the go to for any situation. _Who am I? _She wonders before shaking her head, a halfhearted attempt at clearing her mind. "I don't even know." She mutters before a small ringing fills the room. She looks to her night stand and sure enough her phone is it up slightly shaking with each ring. She picks it up, feeling her stomach churn again, worse than before, at the name. _Mr. Satan. _She considers not answering, but decides against it knowing how upset Dr. Cliffport would be when she returns to work.

"What?" She says harshly, trying to rub the exhaustion out of her eyes.

"Oh, Samantha, you sound tired. Did I wake you?" she pulls the phone way from her head slightly, unprepared for the volume of his voice. For an older man he always seems to be so loud.

"Eight in the morning on my day off? No, I'm not sleeping; I'm riding a fucking unicorn. Now what do you want?" She replies, no emotion in her voice.

"My dear Samantha, need I remind you who the boss is here?" she cringes from his voice. Even after so long she still finds him creepy, solely from the way he speaks to her. Almost as if she was the daughter he never had.

"Um, please do. But say it slowly, I'm still very tired."

"Do not test my patience."

"With all due respect, _sir_, Jesus had a short temper compared to you." She can almost see him frown and grind his teeth.

"Please do not take that tone with me." She slides out of the bed, shivering when the cold air touches her body. _I need to stop sleeping naked._ She thinks to herself, rubbing her arm to get warm before making her way to the closet.

"This is the first weekend I've had off in months, you aren't supposed to call me on my time off. You know what that means right, time off? Where you sit back and _don't_ work? Wait, sorry, I forgot. Slavery was still okay when you were young." He sighs, taking a deep breath before replying.

"I am simply wishing you a happy birthday."

"Oh well that's just fantastic, but it's not my birthday." She replies, sliding open the door to the large closet, staring at the organized rows of clothing.

"I know I am early but I also know that by this time tomorrow your phone will be off and you will be face down in a puddle of booze." She nods her head will pulling out a long sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans.

"Oh shoot, you're right. Well, it's official. You can tell the future. Oh, make sure you tell all your gypsy friends that you passed the last trial. I'm sure they'll love having you in their camp." She says sarcastically, digging in the bottom of the closet for a pair of sneakers.

"Very funny." She hears the clanking of ice, no doubt from a glass of bourbon.

"Make sure to tell that weird blind lady I said hey. You know the one; she goes around talking about destiny to little kids. Oh, and what's your gypsy name going to be? I was thinking something like Madam-"

"Goodbye Samantha."

"Wait, before you go, tell me what I'm having for lunch so I can make sure I have enough money." She practically shouts before throwing the pile of cloths on the bed.

"I'll tell you if you promise to change my name in your phone."

"Oh, that's right; it should be Dr. Satan, not Mr. Satan. Tell you what, ill change it when you stop tapping my phone." The line dies with a strangely satisfying click. She takes a deep breath and tosses the phone on the bed and makes her way to the shower.

She isn't sure why she does it, why she pushes him. She always guessed it was curiosity or a maybe an old habit form a lifetime ago, she is never sure. But she is sure that for some reason making him mad always makes her feel better. She gets that feeling that she's doing something right. Being a smartass seems to suit her.

She frowns and lets out a groan when she notices the bathroom is even colder than the bedroom. She looks to the small tablet mounted on the wall, flipping through menus before clicking on an icon as loud dance music starts playing as she steps into the shower, sighing with relief as the hot water pours over her.

It's an hour before she stands in her kitchen, ready to leave. She looks around, checking her pockets making sure she has everything before grabbing the grey duster off the counter and heading to the personal elevator and clicking lobby. She stands quietly, head moving slightly as music plays through the headphones. Her eyes trace the gold trim around the luxury elevator as she slowly descends. She snaps to reality when the elevator jerks a little and there's a soft ding as the doors open. She steps out, looking around the lobby before pulling out a headphone as an older man greets her.

"Hello, Ms. Kozolov. Little late to work aren't you?" he says with a homely smile.

"Not today Jed, finally got some free time."

"That's wonderful, would you like the Charger pulled around?" she looks out the glass doors of the lobby thinking for a moment. "No, I'll think I'll walk." He nods cordially, opening the door for her. She steps into the chilly April air, pulling the coat tighter wishing he had said yes to the car. She could easily get the car herself, but she doesn't want to walk to the garage. It's only a few minute walk to the small coffee shop, but it's well worth it. It's been part of her routine for years now.

She arrives, pulling open the large door and stepping inside the warm café. It's more crowded than she's accustomed to because the time of day but it doesn't bother her. She makes her way to the small a small booth along the wall, taking off her coat and sitting. She removes the headphones as she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, listening to the chatter as people go on about their lives.

"Oh, hello Ms. Kozolov." Sam opens her eyes and sees a younger woman. A girl that's been working at the café for about a year. A small woman with an energetic attitude.

"Ah, Jessica, hello." She replies to the energetic woman, trying to keep from grinding her teeth.

"What can I get you, the usual?" She asks, a large smile on her lips that only seems to be there when she talks to Sam.

"Uh, yeah. Hey, have you started selling those smoothies yet?"

"Yes we have actually. Would you like one?" she asks, scribbling into the little notepad.

"Sure. Give me something with berry in the name." Jessica's smile seems to get bigger as she walks away. Sam just closes her eyes again. Relaxing as the sound of the city washes over her. She can feel her body scream for sleep, but she ignores the feeling. It isn't exactly wise to sleep in a public place. She listens, catching bits of random conversations. Regular people with regular problems. But the peace is gone when she feels eyes locked on her. She continues to sit in silence for a while until there's a hesitant tap on her shoulder.

"What?" She asks, keeping her eyes closed.

"Sam? Is that you?" She hears from next to her, a recognizable voice that she can't place. She looks to her left and sees a slender body, wrapped in a black coat. She looks up the person, a girl with beautiful features and long black hair. "It's me." Sam can't respond, her mouth locks for a moment and she just stares at her.

"Carly?" she asks, mouth dry.


End file.
